


Pity for the Serpent

by lonzobean



Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonzobean/pseuds/lonzobean
Summary: A story about Egwene Kindleaf and life after the end of a war.
Relationships: Erlin Kindleaf/Beverly Toegold V
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	Pity for the Serpent

The clock on her bathroom wall is exactly four minutes and thirty seconds fast. Egwene has been staring at it for the better part of an hour by now. 

The grout between the tiles has stamped criss-cross patterns into the backs of her legs, and the bathtub faucet is dripping steadily into a pool of what is now room temperature water. She should probably call a plumber, but she thinks that if she spent every Thursday afternoon sitting on the floor of a completely silent bathroom, she might just lose her mind.

She rolls the glass potion bottle that Moonshine gave her through her fingers for what feels like the thousandth time. The liquid inside dances and shimmers playfully under the light, just as it had on the day that the crick elf had pressed it into her hands. 

“Use it to keep in touch!” Moonshine had told her, as chipper and cheerful as ever. “It’s a modified potion of scryin’! I’ve been workin’ with Lucanus and Meemaw to perfect the recipe. We finished ironin’ out some of the more explosion-causin’ side effects this weekend, so I’ve been passin’ ‘em out to everyone!” The druid beamed at her proudly. “Just pop the lid on that sucker and pour it into any kind of liquid — well, honestly, we’ve had the best results usin’ crick water, but if you don’t got any on hand then anything you have layin’ around should work just fine— say the name of the person you wanna talk to, and bam!" Moonshine launched into a series of triumphant and gratuitous sound effects. “You’ll be able to talk to us like we were in the room with you! Except we won’t _actually_ be in the room with you. We gotta tell people that now, ‘cause the first time we tested it Hardwon tried to reach into the water to high-five young Bev and it made Lucanus’s sink explode.” Moonshine scratched her chin thoughtfully, "Also, maybe shoot us a heads up before you use it. The _second_ time we tested it, we accidentally caught Hardwon in the shower. I gotta say, I didn’t really get the big fuss about it — honestly, the man’s got a lovely tenor — but he was real testy afterwards, so ....” she trailed off, furrowing her brow and continuing to scratch absentmindedly at a patch of mushrooms growing underneath her chin. “Y’know what?” she finally exclaimed. “Maybe you should just wait for us to call you!” She rummaged through her overall bib, tossing aside a few bugs and twigs before producing a heaping fistful of identical potion vials and holding them out triumphantly in Egwene’s direction. “Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of these on our end! But you hold on to that one, just in case.”

Back in her bathroom, Egwene shakes the bottle one last time for good measure. Then she sets it back on the floor and slumps back against the wall, scraping a wayward strand of hair out of her face. Every time she treks off to the bathroom to fill the tub for a scry call, she feels like an idiot for bringing the potion with her. _Erlin never misses a call, dumbass_ , she always berates herself, because every Thursday afternoon since he left Gladeholm on the S.S. Stormborn, like clockwork, her little brother’s face has swirled into focus in the rippling water of her bathtub. But the silent admonishments never quite keep her hands from creeping toward the shelf in her bedroom where the bottle patiently sits. 

As if on cue, the water in the bathtub begins to bubble like a pot brought to boil. Egwene jerks forward and scrambles to the side of the tub as the water starts to churn. At first it’s just a hint of color in the muddy blue — a quick burst of red, a flash of freckles — but as the bubbling starts to recede, Erlin’s face resolves itself out of the froth of the scrying pool to smile widely up at her. “Dude! What’s up?” 

Although she’d never admit it, Egwene swears that Erlin looks older every time she sees him. His hair has gotten long enough that he wears it tied back — she recognizes Beverly’s knotwork immediately and makes a mental note to tease him about it later — and he has a tiny bit of peach fuzz growing in at the edges of his chin. 

Egwene scowls at her brother. “You’re ten minutes and—“ she bites back the “thirty-seven seconds” before it can escape her lips, “—You’re ten minutes late, dweeb. I’ve got things to do, y’know.”

“Sorry!” Erlin grins sheepishly. “I guess word got out about the Titans of Bahumia being in town, so a bunch of dwarves challenged Scoutmaster Hardwon to a wrestling match, and apparently things got _slightly_ out of hand, and…” he shakes his head. “Well, long story short, Scoutmaster Hardwon fell off a cliff. I had to heal him back up before getting back to the ship.”

Egwene rolls her eyes. If there’s one thing she’s learned during their weekly scry calls, it’s that Erlin’s primary roles as healer on the S.S. Stormborn are to patch up Beverly whenever one of his terrible pranks goes wrong and to bring back Hardwon whenever he gets in too far over his head while trying to look cool. “At this point, they should pay you.”

Erlin coughs. “Well… technically, Hardwon does. Whenever I heal him, he tells me I did a great job and then hands me a hundred gold pieces.” He leans in and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I don’t think any of them fully get how money works.” 

Egwene leans in as well and shoots him a wicked grin. “Then tell him to up it to a hundred and fifty.”

Erlin laughs. That’s one thing about him that hasn’t changed, Egwene thinks; Erlin’s laugh has always been a crooked little snort, half endearing and all annoying. 

“So what about you?” Her brother asks. “What have you been up to, dude?”

Egwene shifts uncomfortably on the linoleum floor. “Y’know. Same stuff as always. Whatever.” She narrows her eyes at the scrying pool. “Is that lint on your chin supposed to be a new thing you’re trying?” 

She watches Erlin’s facial expression waver between his desire to question her further and his desire to brag about his new facial hair, and in the end his teenage ego wins out. “Yeah, kinda!” He rubs his chin proudly. “Bev says it itches, but I’m pretty sure he’s just jealous that I was the one who was able to grow a beard first.”

Egwene fights the urge to scoff when her little brother refers to his barely-there patch of peach fuzz as a beard. “If you grow a mustache, I’m going to come up to Frostwind to shave it off your face.”

“We’re in Irondeep now, actually! Jaina’s helping out with the unveiling of the new dwarphanage, and she wanted Scoutmaster Hardwon to be there.” Erlin seems completely unperturbed by her threats, a development that she is both proud of and irritated by. “Honestly, I was gonna shave the facial hair off for the unveiling ceremony, but…" her little brother breaks into a mischievous grin. “Maybe I _should_ grow a mustache if it’ll get you to come visit us!”

Once again, discomfort shoots up Egwene’s spine. She tries to school her features into a mask of disinterest, but she can’t bring herself to meet Erlin’s eyes when she responds to him. “I was just kidding, dweeb. Like I said, I’ve got stuff to do here in Gladeholm. I’ve been working with some idiots at the university to develop some new poisons and stuff or whatever.” She kicks the linoleum with her toe. “It’s cool. I guess.” 

“Oh yeah dude, I totally get it. No worries.” She can hear that Erlin is trying to be tactful with his response, which somehow makes her feel even worse. “It’s just that— well, it's just that you haven’t left Gladeholm since Thiala got defeated, and when we were little you used to talk about how you were going to travel the world once you became a Green Knight, so I thought maybe…” now it’s Erlin’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I guess I thought maybe a family vacation might be fun, is all. But if you don’t want to, it’s totally fine.” 

Against her will, Egwene thinks about the last time that she and Erlin were both aboard the S.S. Stormborn. Her hand creeps down to her waist and slips into the pouch that she always wears beneath her clothing: a small scrap of leather wrapped around two even smaller bundles of fur. One bundle is long and coarse. The other is short and thin.

“Like I said,” she repeats. “I’ve got stuff to do here.”

A long, awkward silence stretches out between the two of them. Egwene withdraws her hand from the pouch and wraps her arms tightly around her knees. The bathroom suddenly feels too cold and too empty.

Erlin is the one who finally breaks the silence. “Oh, dude, I almost forgot — your birthday’s coming up in a week!” He manages to pump a remarkable amount of excitement into his tone, but the way that his voice cracks betrays his nervousness. “Is there anything you wanna do back in Gladeholm? We don’t have to stay in Irondeep for much longer — I can ask Scoutmaster Hardwon to fly the S.S. Stormborn back as soon as the dwarphanage has opened!” 

Her arms tighten around her knees. “I’ll probably just grab a drink over at the Sitting Duck Tavern. Nothing fancy. No need to cut your adventure short for that.”

“No way, dude!” Her little brother shakes his head furiously. “We wouldn’t be cutting anything short at all! Everyone would be super bummed out if they missed your birthday. Plus it’s been a long time since you’ve had a party, right?” Erlin’s eyes get a faraway look in them, the same way they always do whenever he talks about the events of last year. “I guess it would’ve been kinda hard to have a birthday party when… y’know. When Thiala was causing the apocalypse. Or at least... that’s what it sounds like, from what people have told me.” He blinks a few times and then takes a deep breath. “But that’s all the more reason to celebrate this year!” Erlin offers her a wide, shaky smile.

Egwene suddenly becomes aware of the fact that she’s been gripping her arms so tightly that her fingers have gone numb. “It’s fine,” she mutters.

Erlin doesn’t notice. “I bet Cran and Derlin could bring over some of the other Green Knights from the Feywild! It’s been a while since we’ve hung out with them, and I bet they’ll have some cool stories about the troll king and stuff like that—”

"It's _fine_."

"—and Bev and Scoutmaster Moonshine are _great_ at throwing birthday parties. It’s kind of crazy. You should’ve seen the one they threw for Jaina a few weeks ago—”

“Cut it out, Erlin!”

The silence crashes back down in an instant, and this time it’s as thick and oppressive as a storm cloud. The sound of Egwene’s outburst reverberates hollowly off of the bathroom walls; it rings bitterly in her ears long after the echo has faded, burrowing itself deep into the corners of her brain. 

Egwene takes a deep breath. “Birthday parties are for kids. I’m not a kid anymore, so just drop it already.” She tries to ignore the guilt burning in the pit of her stomach, but the rest of her body still feels cold. She stares resolutely at the floor and tries not to imagine the look on Erlin’s face. 

“Egwene—”

“I should go to bed. Gotta head to the university in the morning.” She refuses to look at her brother. "You should get some sleep, too."

Egwene hears the telltale clank of Erlin’s armor as he fidgets with his gauntlets. It’s a habit that she’s observed a thousand times before, and she knows by now that it always means something: he’s scared, he’s embarrassed, he’s worried, he’s nervous, he’s thinking. She’s tried to predict the meaning so many times that she’s lost count by now; she never knows what the explanation is for certain until Erlin says whatever he’s feeling out loud.

"Okay. I love you."

Egwene squeezes her eyes shut and counts to ten. 

"Love you too, nerd.” She manages to keep her voice steady, then swipes one hand through the scrying pool to dispel the connection as she rubs furiously at her eyes with the other. The bathroom is silent again except for the steady drip of the faucet into the now-placid tub. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you weren't already aware of this, Egwene and Erlin win the "which NADDPOD characters make me sad" competition by a landslide.


End file.
